Obligations
by RippedIntoPieces
Summary: Harry never realised how her choices in life affected John's, but one day he's going to have to live for himself instead of trying to fulfil everyone else's expectations and Sherlock may just help him do that.


**Bit random, and truth be told I really don't like this, it'll be heavily edited soon. But I'll let you guys decide on it first.**

Obligation:

John's relationship with his sister was often strained at best, Sherlock had deduced this was due to her drinking, which yes, did bother him because there was already one alcoholic in the family, and they didn't need another, but it was more due to the fact that Harry was allowed to live her life without pretence, and she'd completely botched it up even with the freedom she'd allowed.

Harry decided she was attracted to girls around age 14, when John had been 11 and had not yet discovered the joys of sexuality and awkward flirting, still at the stage where being mean to the girl you liked was the way to go. He didn't quite understand why his mum was so unhappy to see her daughter closely hugging a girl outside of the house, standing awkwardly in the doorway as he watched his mother glare at the intimate couple who were standing just outside the gate of their terraced house. Other than the raised voices he sometimes heard from the living room when Harry stumbled in the front door, lipstick smudged on her mouth and clothes ruffled, it never particularly bothered him that his sister preferred women to men. It wasn't until he reached age 17, and he'd just been dumped by his girlfriend of six months, that he felt a sting of annoyance at Harry for following her route in life. Sitting morosely at the kitchen table his mother attempted to soothe his broken hearts with multiple cups of tea and cheerful chit chat,

"There are other girls John, I heard that Amelia girl down the road recently broke up with her boyfriend, the one with the Mohawk…terrible boy, according to Mrs West down the road he was excluded from his local comprehensive…anyway, she's rather pretty isn't she? I think I saw your sister talking to her once…But I don't think she's like _that._ Besides John, you have plenty of time, not even out of school yet. Still be married before your sister…" His mother's mindless ramblings didn't really make him feel any better, especially when he knew that "Amelia Girl" was the one he'd seen with Harry's hand under her skirt in the corner of a darkened party they'd both attended the other day.

But it was more that he hadn't really noticed the girl before anyway, even when she walked past their house with her skirts swishing, pale legs revealed in all their glory. What he had noticed however, was the boy with the Mohawk, whose slanted features had attracted John's attention, because he was something different, something _dangerous._His mother's reaction to Harry even communicating with girls showed him how she was likely to react if she knew that when he'd bumped into Amelia and her then-boyfriend he hadn't noticed Amelia's ample chest or copper hair, but he'd noticed the strong built profile of her boyfriend and the way his clothes seemed to fit _just right._

It was at this moment, when he realised his attraction seemed to be swinging more to the men in his life and he'd finally understood all those small sighs when Harry visited and the cold smiles when Harry brought someone home, that he realised he _couldn't_be gay. His mother was disappointed by the lack of grandchildren her daughter would provide, and he knew she'd been looking forward to seeing her daughter in some ridiculous meringue wedding dress in the next ten years. That wasn't going to happen; Harry was never going to be the model child. So that fell to John.

When he next brought a girl home, he noticed the proud look on his mother's face, and whilst he felt a passing annoyance at the fact that his sister could bring home anyone she liked, he was happy to keep up the illusion that he too would one day get married and have the grandchildren. _There's always John,_seemed to be a common thought in his family, a reminder every time he went to family gatherings that he had to hold up the family name, had to produce the grandchildren. He tried being someone better, someone else with so many women, whom he wined and dined, fucked and left after a few weeks when their relationship got too close to being real. So many nameless, faceless women to cover up that he was secretly waiting for some change in the arrangements that would mean that the obligation was no longer on him.

Then Harry met Clara, and the pressure was off. Suddenly, there was the scandal that Harry was to marry a woman, and there were RSVPs to sort out and family disagreements to have and then John was free to fuck who he wanted. Except by this point he'd already signed up to become a medic out in Afghanistan, leaving a week after Harry's wedding, and out there he didn't have to worry about silly things like relationships and sexuality, out there all that mattered was staying alive and keeping others breathing too.

Only occasional letters from the outside world reminded him that he still had a life outside of sand and blood and gunfire. There was filtered news from Clara and Harry, starting positively, _Harry's been promoted, we're moving house, thinking of adopting,_and then it changed and reminded him of Harry's flighty nature, _she's drinking again, Clara left me, I don't know what to do to help her._John's replies were infrequent and he never knew what to say to Clara, who'd been his friend as well as Harry's and who knew how his sister could be; he couldn't think what to say to make things better because he was removed from the problem itself. It was easy to push the trivial problems of home from his mind when he was staunching the bloody wounds of a young man crying out for his mother. But then he got shot, and he was homeward bound. And now all he had to think about was therapy appointments and physio and paying the bills on a measly Army pension, and he didn't think about obligations, he just thought about the men he'd left behind, the men still fighting on the other side of the world whilst he remained sitting with his cane on the bed beside him, being no use to anyone.

Now with a laptop at his fingertips, Harry and Clara's problems were at the front of his mind more than he'd like them to be. Harry had given him her phone, claiming that she wanted him to keep in contact, but he knew Harry was just as lonely as he was, and she only had him since cutting ties with her wife; he ignored her, knowing full well what had led to her marriage's breakdown. He wished she knew how selfish she was, putting the weight of their parents' expectation firmly on his shoulders once again. He didn't want to live up to the family name, he was the younger child, meant to follow the lead of Harry and _couldn't she just for once do something without cocking it up?_ The phone in his pocket remained unused and John despised having nothing to do.

Then Sherlock arrived, and he had something to do, something to live for other than obligations and nightmares. There were cases to solve and finally he felt like he was living, flying high on adrenaline and putting up with the most impossible man in Britain. And there was Sarah, and she was lovely enough to be a good cover up, he was able to go slowly with her as she also seemed in no rush to progress their relationship past first dates and takeaways, and he often wondered whether she was using him in the same way he was using her - whether he was a parentally approved choice, ideal for marriage and stability. There was the pool and there was Sherlock pacing worriedly, stammering and flashing John a slight smile and John wanted to fuck obligation and kiss Sherlock at that moment because the man was completely _impossible._

He thought of his life so far and how many unhappy relationships he'd forced himself into, and then he thought of how his life had changed since introducing this wonderfully idiotic man into his life, and he decided it wasn't worth worrying about obligations. He was grown man, he could make his own decisions, and if that meant sharing a flat with a sociopath, so be it. So he grabbed the lapels of Sherlock's coat and pulled him in for a kiss, pressing insistently on the warm lips of the brilliant man in front of him. Hesitantly, Sherlock responded, holding John up, his Army Browning still in the other hand, and John lamented on time wasted. Even Moriarty's return didn't dampen the moment as much as he thought it might, and later, when they'd survived the explosion with minor burns and water logged clothes, he thought briefly about telling his mother. But slipping his hand into Sherlock's gloved ones reminded him that he didn't live to please his parents, and for once, he didn't have to be the model child.

The obligations were no longer his.


End file.
